Scythe in Seattle
by Lucyrne
Summary: Sleepless in Seattle AU. When talk-radio show host Dr. Marie Mjolnir asks her audience about their wishes and dreams, a little boy from Seattle calls in and wishes for his uncle Soul Eater Evans to get a new meister. Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, former-meister Maka Albarn hears Soul's story and becomes captivated by the scythe with the golden voice. T for language.
1. Chapter 1

As of tonight, Maka Albarn's life was entirely planned out from the day she walked down the aisle with Hiro to the day she retired. She considered herself lucky. Most people didn't know what their lives held in store for them. To those people, the future was always a surprise. What a foolish way to live.

Maka met Hiro while studying at the Demon Weapon Meister Academy in Death City. They had class together and saw each other in the halls, but they never interacted until their sandwiches were mixed up in the cafeteria. Maka got his tuna salad on rye while Hiro got her chicken salad on rye, which was a disaster since Maka hated fish and Hiro was a pescetarian. After trading sandwiches and phone numbers, Maka discovered that she and Hiro had a lot in common. They were the only meisters in the EAT class that failed to bond with a specific weapon. The partnerships just never stuck. Maka stubbornly drifted from weapon to weapon for a few years before concluding meisterhood wasn't for her. Hiro just never had the ambition.

Considering how a weapon/meister partnership worked out for her parents, it was probably smarter for Maka to pursue a different career path after graduation. Though it pained her to give up on her childhood dream, Maka left Death City for good and moved to DC (the other DC). Hiro came with her. Two years later, they became engaged. Right on schedule.

They celebrated their engagement with Hiro's family since Maka's parents were on opposite sides of the globe. She retold the sandwich story because everyone loved the sandwich story, Hiro's mother especially. She said it was proof that Hiro and Maka were meant to be. Getting their sandwiches mixed up was destiny.

"Oh please," Maka said in response. "Destiny is something we've invented because we just can't stand the fact that everything is accidental."

Hiro's mother side-eyed Maka and gave her a wry smile. As if she knew better about love and life than Maka did—Maka, who watched a star-crossed love story crumble before her eyes before she was even twelve years old! She wondered then, as she rolled her peas across her dinner plate and stared into her half-full glass of wine, how her mother could have possibly been swept up by a good-for-nothing scythe like her father. Snap decisions, misjudgments, and surprises were part of the meister lifestyle, she supposed. Avoiding that scene altogether was probably the best decision she ever made.

Maka and Hiro arrived at dinner immediately after leaving their respective offices, so they had to drive home separately. While spending two hours cooped up with Hiro wasn't always a cakewalk, nothing bored Maka more than driving alone. Her used Toyota was slowly merging onto the highway when she started flipping through radio stations. She surfed through channels mercilessly until she heard a familiar voice.

"Welcome back to 'You and Your Emotions.'"

Maka groaned. She recognized the calm, lilting voice over the radio as Marie Mjolnir, a former Deathscythe who now made a living as a radio personality. Her father was also a Deathscythe, so she had met Marie once or twice over the years.

"I'm Dr. Marie Mjolnir, broadcasting across America from the top of the Tears Tower in Death City. Tonight we're talking about wishes and dreams. What's your wish? Maybe the best present you can give yourself is a call to me! First, we have a call from Seattle—"

She flipped the station. Maka was certain Mjolnir wasn't a real doctor, and anything would be better than that idiotic, emotional radio show.

_"Tonight, Excalibur sings his theme song backwards!" _

Maka violently twisted the knob of her radio back a couple stations, and was surprised to hear the small voice of a young boy through her speakers. "Hello, this is Nate —" A loud beep interrupted the little boy's sentence.

"No last names, Nate," The so-called Dr. Mjolnir said calmly. "Hello there, you sound younger than our usual callers. How come you're up so late?"

"It's not that late in Seattle." He sounded like he was only ten years old. Maka chuckled and placed her right hand back on the steering wheel. This kid had snark. She liked that.

"Got me there. What's your wish, Nate?"

"It's not for me. It's for my uncle. He's a scythe, and I think he needs a new meister." Maka shook her head.

"You don't like the one he was now?" Mjolnir asked calmly. Maka reached back towards the radio dial. She would rather hear Excalibur sing his ABCs than listen to this—

"He doesn't have one now," Nate said frankly. Maka's hand froze over the radio dial. "That's the problem."

"Your uncle, huh? Where are your parents?"

"They're on tour. I stay with my dad's little brother when they are gone. It's been a while."

"I see. Well, why does your uncle need a new meister?"

"She's dead." Maka closed her eyes for a moment and gripped the steering wheel. She couldn't believe this. This was a grotesque invasion of privacy. That kid should know better than to air his family's problems on the radio like this. It was a national program—anyone could be listening! She fumed silently as she inched through traffic, but she made no move to switch the radio station.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Nate," Mjolnir said with genuine sincerity.

"I've been pretty sad, but I think he is worse."

"And you're worried about him. Have you talked to your uncle about this?"

"No. It's very hard for him to talk about this stuff. It's like it makes him sadder."

"You want me to talk to him?"

"Don't put on the uncle!" Maka snapped sharply to the radio. She slapped her forehead—what was the use of yelling at the radio? They couldn't hear her. It wasn't like anything she said or felt was going to impact what happened on this damn radio show in Death City, or what happened to this boy all the way Seattle. Mjolnir continued to wag her soothing, silver tongue at the poor boy: she couldn't help his uncle if she didn't speak to him directly. Didn't Nate want to help his uncle get better? She was a doctor after all, and a weapon too. She understood what he was feeling.

Nate responded that his uncle hated shows like this. That makes two of us, Maka thought wryly

"Okay," Nate finally said with extreme reluctance. "But if he turns into a scythe and stabs me, I'm never listening to this show ever again." On the radio, Maka could hear Mjolnir chuckle. "Oh yeah, his name is Soul," Nate added hastily

Maka indignantly stared straight ahead at the road. "This is absolutely disgusting," she said aloud.

A few moments of anxious silence passed, and Maka realized with horror that she was actually invested in what happened next. She once again considered putting a stop to this nonsense by switching stations when a new voice finally came on the line.

"Hullo? I'm probably not interested in whatever you're selling." This new voice was much different from Mjolnir's calm trill and Nate's childish tone. It was deep and rich, and its low timbre sent shivers down Maka's spine. Now that was a voice made for radio. It wasn't just the tone Maka found attractive—it wasn't cheating to feel attracted to a disembodied voice right? This uncle, this scythe, sounded much younger than she originally pictured him. He was irreverent, he was cool, and best of all, he seemed to have some sense.

"I'm Dr. Marie Mjolnir from Network America," Mjolnir said. "I'm not selling anything. Your nephew called to ask for advice to get you a new meister."

"Uh, who is this?" The scythe, Soul, asked.

"Dr. Marie Mjolnir from Network America," the radio host repeated.

"Shit, are we on the air? For Death's sake Nate—" Maka could faintly hear the young boy's explanations and protests over the phone line, and possibly a scuffle over the phone itself.

"Nate feels that since your meister's death you've been very unhappy," Mjolnir said with a steady voice. "He is genuinely worried about you, and he doesn't know how to talk to you about all this. Maybe we could talk and help him feel better."

The radio suddenly crackled with static as Maka drove through a tunnel. She stepped firmly on the accelerator, and cut in front of several cars before finally getting back her signal. She turned up the radio's volume so she could hear over the traffic and bleeping horns.

"I'm not—I'm NOT mad at you," she heard Soul say to his nephew. Damn, she must have missed something. He sighed audibly through the phone. Oh Death, Maka thought. He's actually going to start talking. "Okay. All righ—"

"How long ago did your meister die?" Now that she had him on the line, Mjolnir was cutting right to the chase.

After a few moments, Soul finally answered. "About a year and a half." The undercurrent of pain in his voice was evident, even through a phoneline thousands of miles away.

"Have you partnered with anyone since?"

"Look lady, I don't wanna be rude—"

"And I don't mean to pry—"

Maka snorted and said, "'Course you do."

"'Course you do." Soul said dryly at the same time. Maka smiled. Her Toyota switched lanes and veered down an exit ramp. She liked the sound of their voices overlapping like that.

"Look, I had a tough time at first but I'm getting along fine," Soul said. "I've been holding up fine as a weapon, and Nate and I will get along fine once I destroy his radio." Maka laughed. At this point, she wasn't simply invested. She felt like she was there in a room with all three of them—Marie Mjolnir, Nate, and Soul, the scythe with the golden voice and a broken heart. She pictured Soul as a tall guy with a strong chin, very different from Hiro's gangly silhouette. A voice like that had to have a handsome face to match.

"I have no doubt that you are a good weapon and uncle," Mjolnir said. "You can tell a lot from a person's voice. But there must be a reason Nate feels you are still under a cloud."

"Tell her that you have trouble sleeping at night." Somehow, young Nate was back on the air.

"How do you know 'bout that?" Soul asked. Huh, all three were on the air now. Nate must be on the same line at Soul.

"I hear you walking around sometimes," Nate explained. "I thought it was a kishin or a burglar, but it's just you."

"Yea," Soul said. Sadness had involuntarily crept into his voice again. "Just me."

"Could it be that you need companionship just as much as or even more than you need a meister?" Mjolnir asked.

"YES!" Maka shouted. She clamped her hand to her mouth in shock. "I'm losing my mind," she muttered. She started tugging on her right pigtail. "Get it together, Albarn!" He was a voice—just a voice. The voice of someone she never met, never would meet. He was scythe in Seattle, she was a washed-up former-meister in DC. There are no rational reason behind the aching feeling in her chest, this burning in her cheeks.

Maka's inner monologue was interrupted when Mjolnir cut to commercial break.

"We've been talking to, well, let's call him Scythe in Seattle. We'll be right back after this break with listener response, your response, to the things we've been talking about!"

Commercials started playing, and Maka's mind wandered. There was something wrong with her. Hiro was the perfect fiance. When he proposed, he gave her his grandmother's engagement ring. Despite being several generations old, it was exactly what she would have picked if she had to choose the ring herself. It was like he plucked the image of her dream engagement ring and put it in a velvet box. She expected as much from him, because their entire relationship was like that. No surprises. She didn't have to fight for anything because by the time she had thought of something, it was already in Hiro's hand. It was unfair for Maka to start harboring irrational fantasies about a voice she heard on the radio. She should turn off that radio right now.

But Maka didn't turn it off because, well, Soul interested her for reasons outside his attractive voice. He was a weapon. A scythe, her weapon of choice in school. There were no skilled scythes at the DWMA when she attended, which was a shame because she would have worked harder to make a partnership work if she had a scythe. And Soul was a scythe without a scythemeister.

Maka's gut churned. A sad scythe without a scythemeister. She wasn't just selfish for mentally-cheating on Hiro—she was projecting her desires upon a grieving man she didn't know. Like Mjolnir, Maka suspected Soul's relationship with his past meister wasn't purely professional. It was common enough for meister/weapon partnerships to progress into something romantic. That only made his loss even more painful, and her rabid fantasies even more gross. I'm so screwed up, she thought to herself. She reached for the radio dial when Mjolnir's voice made its triumphant return.

"We're back! For listeners just tuning in, this Dr. Marie Mjolnir from 'You and Your Emotions.' Right now we are talking to Scythe in Seattle, a weapon who needs a new meister. Let's hear from some of our listeners. Hello Arisa, you're on the air."

"Hi," a woman's voice said. "I was just wondering, could you give me that scythe guy's number?" Inhuman noises erupted from Maka's throat.

The rest of the listener calls were similar. Hopeful women who may or may not have even see a demon weapon in their lives, let alone wielded one, were suddenly interested in becoming meisters. The type of women that tuned into 'You and Your Emotions' were horribly desperate. At least Maka had that over them. Not that there anything to compete for here. Maka removed herself from the market long before Hiro proposed.

By the time Soul came back on the line, Maka was parallel parking in front of her townhouse on the outskirts of DC. She left the car running, unwilling to leave before hearing what happened next.

"Do you think there is somebody out there you could love as much as your meister? Maybe even more?" At this point, both Mjolnir and Soul had abandoned the pretense that he wasn't involved with his meister. That only made the whole spectacle that much more touching to listen to.

"It's hard to imagine," was Soul's short reply. He sounded so drained, so exhausted of emotion.

"What are you going to do Soul?"

"I don't know. When I met her, it was just so clear. I just knew." Maka ran the side of her thumb over her lower eyelids, catching tears before they even had a chance to roll down her cheek.

"How did you know?" Mjolnir asked.

On the radio, Soul exhaled shakily. "What the hell. It's not a specific thing. More like a feeling. You touch her for the first time, and the air is different. It's like your soul has come home, but you can hear it. It's like, uh, it's like—"

"Music," Maka and Soul breathed together. Her green eyes widened and she stared at her car radio. To hell with coincidence. This had to mean something. Maka pushed her bangs away from her eyes, suddenly realizing just how much she was crying.

"It's time to wrap up folks," Mjolnir said. "We really hope you'll call again soon. Let us know how its going."

Soul didn't mutter any goodbyes before the radio show switched back to commercial. Maka sank in her seat, immobile. She stayed there for several minutes, not moving or even thinking. She heard a car engine approach—Hiro probably—and she finally gathered the energy to unbuckled her seat belt.

Maka Albarn never did like surprises or destiny or romance, but now she wondered if there was something she was missing out on.


	2. Chapter 2

Soul was looking over a balcony, beer in his hand. He was at a restaurant, his favorite restaurant, overlooking the Seattle skyline. For a city that was often so gloomy and swamped with rain, it could be really beautiful at night.

"Can I have half of your beer?" He recognized Maggie's voice instantly. It was bold and sharp, like she used to be before her illness. Maggie was beside him suddenly, and took his bottle of beer in her soft hands and poured half of it into her own glass.

"What did I used to say again?" she asked. "Here's to looking at you?"

"No Mags, you used to say 'Here's to us'" Soul corrected. He finally looked at her. She was glowing, healthy, and her dark hair was in a long braid down her back. He always remembered her like this, before her hair had fallen out and the color drained from her skin. His throat suddenly thick, too tight to breathe.

"Babe, I miss you so much it hurts." He reached towards her, and got a fist full of sheets. He groped helplessly before realizing where he was—at home, in his bed.

Nate was already up and pouring way too much milk into his bowl of cereal. That kid was going to be the death of him. If he didn't look like Wes' tiny blonde doppelganger, Soul might have already murdered the kid. That stunt with radio station wasn't cool, and it seemed like the three sentences or so Soul spoke over the phone were going to haunt him forever.

The morning immediately after that conversation with shrinkette Dr. Mjolnir, two girls came to his apartment door. They were allegedly his neighbors, though Soul had never seen them in his life. One girl had tremendously long blonde hair and fancy clothes, and the other wore her hair in a bob and the tiniest ponytail Soul had ever seen.

"Hi, Soul?" asked the blonde. Nate squeezed himself in the doorway. "You must be Nate." the girl said. She turned to her friend. "See, I told you. Soul and Nate. I'm Miss Anya Hepburn, and this is Miss Meme Tatane." Miss Meme whats-her-face nodded enthusiastically. "We live two floors up. We're having a party today, if you would like to come. We—We're also DWMA graduates. Meisters"

"Um," Soul said blankly.

"This is our number," Anya said. She took a neatly folded paper from her pocket and thrust it towards Soul's chest. "If you ever have trouble sleeping or need a babysitter, you can call us."

The two girls sashayed down the hall, and a baffled Soul closed his door. Nate erupted into a string of snickers. "Not!"

"My feelings exactly," Soul said. He tossed the piece of paper in the trash and sat on the couch. Nate whipped out his Gameboy. "How many people do you think heard that thing last night?" Soul asked.

"It plays in 50 states."

"What?! Shit!"

Nate didn't look up from his video game, and continued to tap on the buttons ferociously. "Dad said you aren't supposed to curse around me."

Soul got his wayward brother on the phone shortly after that. He clutched his phone receiver to his ear as he paced in his bedroom. "Wes, please control your spawn."

"The entire flute section is asking for your number," Wes said. He continued speaking as if he didn't even hear his younger brother. "A couple tubas too. Wielding a scythe can't be much different from a tuba right?"

"How—did you hear me on the radio too?" Soul growled.

"My wife did. You know how surprised she was when she heard our son's voice on the radio, asking for advice to get you a new meister? You're kind of more famous than me now. Well, at least among single women under 40."

To hell with Wes' rules. _"DEATH FUCKING DAMMIT." _

Wes chuckled nervously over the phone. "You really aren't taking this the way I thought you would."

* * *

Nothing helped clear the mind like finance. Again, Maka felt thankful that she became a budget analyst instead of a meister. Well, she specifically analyzed the budgets of people who worked for the DWMA, but that was only because she had connections with the DWMA to land her a good job. She felt no connection or fondness for it. Or meisterhood, for that matter.

She had been thinking about Soul, that scythe on the radio, for days, fantasizing about meeting him, wielding him, kissing him, and all kinds of other nonsense. At this point, Maka accepted that she felt some connection to him. An irrational connection, but a connection nonetheless. But she was engaged to Hiro, and she wasn't going to follow in her lecherous father's footsteps. This was a phase, a symptom of cold feet. She would get over it.

Maka was computing some figures when Liz, one of her boss Death the Kid's weapons, started talking. Liz Thompson and her sister Patty didn't really work. They just hung around when Kid, the DWMA's liaison in the US government, had to tackle a mountain of paperwork.

"Listen to this," Liz said. She had her long legs propped up on a desk and was reading off her phone. Patty was building a paper sculpture on the other side of the room. "Phone service in Death City was tied up for two hours because some kid called a radio show to get his uncle a new meister."

Maka dropped her calculator and swiveled towards Liz. _"I heard the whole thing," _she said eagerly. Several of her pens and pencils were propelled off her desk, but Maka paid no heed. "Some kid calls up and says my scythe uncle needs a new meister, and I'm in the car talking to myself saying this is gross and invasive, and then the uncle gets on and this shrinkette asks if he wants to talk about it. And he says no, as a matter of fact I don't, and I'm saying right on! Don't talk to her, it's none of her business—"

Maka was not even halfway through the story, and she is already breathless. Her heart really shouldn't be racing like this, not in the office, but she couldn't help herself.

"And then suddenly," Maka continued. "For no reason at all, he just starts talking about how much he loved his meister and how he just," She snapped her fingers. "Fell in love with her, just like that. He touched her and knew they would be partners, and it was like music. And suddenly I'm crying. Me! There are tears, plural, rolling down my face. It was like listening to one of those commercials with the sad animals. Have you seen those?"

Liz and Patty are simply staring at her as if she just grew a second head and a pair of wings.

"Maka, that guy is probably a psychopath," Liz said. "Or a crackhead. Or a chainsaw murderer."

"Or a flasher," Patty added.

"He actually sounded nice," Maka said quietly. "And who cares if he is a psychopath anyways? I just think the whole thing was…interesting. To listen to."

"Oh really?" Liz leaned forward, boring her bright blue eyes into Maka's. The two sisters shared a conspiratorial look before grinning at Maka like a pair of Cheshire cats. The former meister-gone-budget analyst considered that maybe talking to Thompsons about this was a mistake.

* * *

The first letters started to arrive in Soul's mailbox a week after he appeared on the radio show. The envelopes, all addressed to "Scythe in Seattle," were slipped under his door, shoved into his tiny mailbox in the lobby, and left to pile up on the ground in the hallway. The mailman seemed to give up as the letters continued to accumulate like fallen leaves on Soul's doorstep.

The thing was, Soul didn't know how these people even found him. His digital footprint was miniscule. After Maggie, Soul no longer wished to be in constant contact with anyone. It was too easy to pull away from social media and deactivate his cell phone, too gratifying to wallow in the silence he suddenly found himself in. Maybe, he realized, that was why he said so much to that Mjolnir woman. Eighteen months since Maggie passed, he was so starved for communication that he poured his heart to the first person that asked.

"Dear Scythe in Seattle, I'm a SWF from Tulsa," Nate read aloud. Soul refused to open any of the letters and Nate refused to throw them out, so the kid took it upon himself to read and review their contents. "What does SWF mean?"

"Thank Death there's something you don't already know," Soul said. "It means 'single white female.'"

"Oh." Nate silently read through the letter before wrinkling his nose. "This is no good. She wants someone who is Greek or French or something." Puzzled, he crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the trash, which was already overflowing with Nate's other rejects. Soul's apartment was slowly looking more like a rat's nest.

Soul settled on the couch and flipped on the television. It was Saturday, so he didn't have the reprieve of school to get Nate off his hands. That meant TV, movies, and listening to Nate read those damn letters all it was late now, his nephew showed no sign of slowing down his methodical review of each letter.

Nate looked up thoughtfully from the letter in his hand. "When you get a new meister, are you going to have sex with her?"

The weapon snorted. He wasn't going to get a new meister. No way could his soul ever meld with someone else the way it did with Mags in soul resonance. Only one in a million meisters was compatible with his twisted soul, and she had gone somewhere he couldn't follow. Even if there was someone else, Soul had been out of the field for so long that he felt like a perpetually out-of-tune instrument. His blade must be so dull now.

Soul didn't need to dignify Nate's pestering curiosity with any kind of answer, so his reply was neutral. "What do you think?"

"Will she scratch up your back?"

Now Nate had Soul's full, alarmed attention. "What?"

"In the movies, the woman is always scratching up the guy's back and screaming and stuff. When they have sex."

"You're ten. What movie is this?"

"Ten and a quarter. I saw it on HBO."

Soul sighed. With the speed only a fully-grown weapon could have, Soul darted forward and scooped up his nephew and threw the boy over his shoulder. Nate shrieked and pounded on his shoulders to no avail. "It's time for you to go to sleep," Soul said.

Nate was certainly a fighter, as all Evans men should be, but he was no match for the demon scythe. After some struggling, Soul got the boy in his pajamas and confined in his room. When the kid was finally quiet, Soul wandered to the kitchen and pulled a beer out of the refrigerator. He didn't feel like drinking the whole thing, but he cracked it open nonetheless.

Out his bedroom window, Soul could see the moon cackling at him, as if it was laughing at some cosmic joke the weapon wasn't in on. He stared at for a long time, transfixed, and the constant ache that festered in his chest felt a moment of relief.

* * *

Patty was draped over Maka's shoulders as the analyst pounded on her keyboard. Liz was watching a romance on her computer on the other side of the room, which was really unfair because she was the one who pushed Maka to do this in the first place. The sisters seemed to think Maka's temporary insanity involving a scythe and her car radio was funny or romantic. But now that she had two cheerleaders egging her on, Maka had no self-control.

"I know what's your problem," Liz muttered while staring at her laptop screen. It was precariously perched on her legs, which were again propped up on the desk. "You don't want to be in love. You want to be in love in a movie. Hey Maka! Read me what you have so far."

Maka's typing abruptly ceased. "Dear Soul and Nate," Maka read aloud. Patty leaned forward over Maka's shoulder to read along. "I'm not the sort of person who listens to phone-in radio shows—"

"Everyone says that when they're writing to strangers!"

"You think I don't know that?" Maka snapped. She cleared her throat and continued reading. "I know that it's a dumb way to begin, but it's the only way to convey what happened to me the other night when I heard you two on the radio. On the other hand, maybe I'm losing my mind."

"I think you are losing your mind," Patty said with a giggle. "What about Hiro?"

_"I'm going to marry Hiro!"_ That was a little louder than she meant it to be. Maka exhaled slowly, collecting herself. "I just want to offer myself as a potential meister to this weapon in need. Plus I need a career change. And I'm not even going to send it, I'm just getting all this out of my system."

Her eyebrows knitted together and she stared listlessly at the words on the screen. There was so much Maka wanted to say, so much she wanted him to feel. She needed him to read her letter and feel the spark she did, but the text of her letter was bland and lifeless compared to that voice. A sudden thought chilled Maka to her very soul: What if she never met him? What if this man was her destiny and she never met him? She always considered her destiny to be her doom, but what if she was wrong?

If she was really going to marry Hiro, which she was, she had to see this to the end. Maka Albarn wasn't going to end up spending the rest of her life wondering what would have happened if she had the courage to do what she felt in her soul was right.

Maka continued typing. "I want to meet you…"

"At the top of the DWMA steps on Halloween at sunset!" Patty cried. Maka bit her lip—that sounded pretty good. It gave her time to shake off these intense feelings and wait for a response. Hiro also wanted to take her back to Death City soon, to relive the early days of their romance. Hypothetically, she could squeeze in a meeting.

Maka left the completed, printed out letter in her desk drawer when she finally left the office. She had to sit on it for a while before she mailed off, assuming she actually would. Maybe tomorrow she could go back to normal.

She took the long way home. As she walked down her street, contemplating whether she should do another circuit around the block before actually heading inside her home, the moon caught her eye. It was bright and yellow tonight, cackling at her as if she was the butt of some big cosmic joke. Stupid moon. Though she hated it, Maka couldn't tear her eyes away from the moon's crooked, toothy grin.

* * *

For all of his attempts to disappear off the face of the Internet and the phone book, Soul accepted that he could never escape from Black Star. The ninja and his weapon Tsubaki were big shot DWMA agents now, and their missions took them all over the world. This did nothing to stop Black Star from checking in on his friend whenever he felt like it.

"When was the last time you were _out there, _man?" Black Star asked. His face took up the entire screen on Nate's computer. The two had apparently conspired to arrange this video call because Nate was still on this 'set Soul up with a new meister' thing, which Black Star simplified as 'set Soul up.' But the scythe didn't really object this time—this stuff with the radio show and the fanmail had got him thinking. He should date again, chase away this melancholy for good. He just didn't know where to start.

Soul frowned and did some calculations in his head. "Uh, I was thirteen? Fourteen?"

Black Star whistled. "Dude, things are different now. First, you gotta be friends. Then, you neck. This can go on for years. Then you have tests. And then, you get to fuck with the condom on."

This sounded like a much tougher process than Soul remembered. "I'm not looking for a partner, just a date."

"That's what I'm talking about! Women have all types of standards now, even for a star like me." Black Star sighed and ran his hand through his thick blue hair. "Ok, look, you made Tsu cry when you were on the radio that one time."

Shit. "Tell her I'm sorry?"

"Just go out with someone. You can't play nanny forever." After Soul and Black Star said their goodbyes, the weapon shut off the computer and mulled over what the ninja said. It wasn't very comforting when your best friend who was notoriously clueless when it came to women and dating started to give you advice in the romance department.

Nate was still doggedly reading letter after letter, each time coming up with a new reason to throw them into the reject pile. At least it kept the kid occupied.

But when he put Nate to bed that night, the kid had an open letter clutched in his hand.

"This one is addressed to both of us," Nate said. He waved the unfolded letter in the air. "Dear Soul and Nate! It's a really good letter. Promise you'll read it?"

"Alright I will," Soul said, plucking the letter from Nate's hand. He left the boy's room and dropped the letter on the counter. Maka Albarn from the District of Columbia could wait until tomorrow morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Maka's flight to Seattle would take off tomorrow days, that was all she was going to give herself. If she wasn't convinced that Soul was her destined weapon after that, she would end this insanity for good. Maka's heart fluttered at the thought of seeing the face that matched the voice she heard on the radio all those weeks ago.

In the meantime, she distracted herself by throwing herself into her work. She frowned as she scanned the most ridiculous budget request she had seen to date.

Dark Arm meister Black Star and shadow weapon Tsubaki Nakatsukasa were requesting funding for two first-class tickets on an international flight, a night at the Hilton, several hundred dollars in cab fare, a steak dinner, and a blender. Maka didn't know what else she expected from a guy like Black Star. Though they were a few years apart in age, Maka grew up alongside the ninja. Once at school, she avoided him and his ilk because he was loud, annoying, and possibly had lice. He also landed one of the most unique weapons in the world, a fact that the weaponless Maka would always resent.

"Request denied!" she muttered. A few mouse clicks later, Black Star and Tsubaki were officially paying for their extravagant lifestyle out of their own pocket.

"Liz and Patty asked me to pull this for you." Maka looked up from her computer to see Death the Kid, her boss and long-time friend. In his hand was a simple manilla folder, a weapon's file. A very specific weapon's file that Maka lacked the security clearance and authority to get herself. Maka reached for the folder, but Kid withdrew it and stuck it under his arm.

"I'm not giving this to you until you explain why I should," Kid said. His gold eyes met Maka's green ones. Maka could break most men with her determined stare, and she wondered which tactic would psychological hamstring the grim reaper most efficiently. She clasped her hands together on her desk.

"Do you believe in destiny?" she asked. Kid looked at her quizzically, so Maka modified her question. "I mean, why did you partner with Liz and Patty?"

"They became my partners because I gave them an ultimatum," Kid explained dryly. She could tell he was suspicious of where this was going. "They could either become my weapons or go to jail. Clearly, they chose me."

"But when you met them," Maka pressed. "Did you feel like they were the only weapons for you? That in some mystical, cosmic way it was fated?"

Kid's grip on the folder was slipping. "Maka," Kid said thoughtfully. "When you meet someone whose soul wavelength can resonate with your own, it just means your subconscious is compatible with their subconscious, subconsciously. What we think of as chemistry is just two neuroses knowing they are a perfect match."

The phrase 'perfect match' was suddenly too much for her. It was a truth that she kept dancing around at every turn in a desperate attempt to rationalize this fixation. Kid met the Thompsons, his perfect matches, because he happened to be in the area and they happened to mug him. If that didn't smack of cosmic intervention, she didn't know what did. Maka slapped her hands on her desk and leapt to her feet. Kid yelped and flinched backwards, nearly dropping the folder and its contents on the ground.

"I'm having fantasies about a weapon I've never met, who lives in Seattle," Maka blurted. "My subconscious is screaming at me, and if you don't give that folder I'm going to chop you so hard in the neurosis you will never see straight ever again."

Before Kid could answer, Maka leaned over her desk and snatched the folder right out of Kid's hands. The grim reaper's arms fell slack at his sides. Maka ran her thumb through the file's contents and smiled.

"Thank you Kid," Maka said. "I'm so glad we had this chat." She placed the file on her desk and turned back to her computer. Kid mumbled something and stalked away. She would have plenty of time to read about Soul the demon scythe on the flight to Seattle.

* * *

Black Star said that Soul couldn't play nanny forever, but that wasn't true. Soul really could play nanny forever, because his nephew was a monster who couldn't be left alone and didn't give a rat's ass about listening to his elders.

"Maka Albarn," Nate said. The weapon was walking Nate to play with his little girlfriend Kana Altair in another apartment building. The kid was still ranting about this random letter, which Soul forgot to read. "She wants to meet us on Halloween in Death City! I figure we can catch some of the Battle Festival and do some trick or treating before we see her. That would be fun, right?"

"Mmmhmm"

"Kana can tell the future, so I'll run this by her first." Nate was a blonde, blue-eyed posterchild of normalcy, but he surrounded himself with weirdos. There was a reason no one was surprised when a white-haired, red-eyed demon weapon started attending Nate's teacher/parent conferences.

"Listen to this," Nate said. He unfolded the letter and began to read. "'My favorite types of music to listen to are folk and showtunes—" Soul screwed up his face and violently retched. "—but there is one song and one song only that I can consider my favorite. It is "Pianoman" by Billy Joel, which is the greatest song ever written. It is important that you agree with me.' She thinks Billy Joel is the greatest! It's a sign!"

"Yeah right," Soul said. "Everyone knows that "Pianoman" is the best song ever written."

Becoming Nate's full-time babysitter after Wes and his wife Christine started touring the country was both a curse and a godsend. On one hand, he was stuck with Nate all the time. On the other, it really helped him out when he was still reeling from Maggie. It was weird how the family ties he tried so hard to bury during his adolescence were there to pull him out of the pit when he needed them most.

After finally getting Nate off his hands, Soul headed to the fish market by the docks. He was imagining the buttery fish paradise that would be tonight's dinner when he overheard two girls arguing on the pier. The scythe vaguely recognized them as former classmates, but couldn't remember their names. The tougher looking chick with the pink hair was pointing an accusatory finger at her friend, a pretty brunette wearing something similar to a uniform. The pink-haired girl ran off, leaving her devastated friend alone on the pier.

And then brunette's hair burst into flames. Acting on instinct, Soul did the first thing he thought of: he pushed her off the pier and into the water.

In hindsight, dumping a girl he didn't know in the ocean was a bad call. Though it had been a while, the scythe really should have recognized demon lantern Jacqueline Dupre and her prickly meister Kim Diehl right away. Jackie's hair caught on fire all the time at school—she wasn't ever in any danger. Now thanks to Soul, she was soaked to the bone in 50 degree weather.

After fishing her out of the water and briefly falling in himself, Soul insisted that Jackie come to his place so she could stay somewhere warm and dry off while they tracked down her wayward meister.

And that was how, for the first time in nearly two years, an attractive girl was sitting in Soul's apartment and wearing his old "Pianoman" shirt.

The flustered lantern made it abundantly clear that she wasn't interested in what she called 'illicit behavior,' which was fine with Soul because cool guys didn't take advantage of women, especially the type that would immolate him without a second's hesitation. For a while Soul left Jackie alone in the living room while she left a dozen voicemails for Kim. Eventually he realized that hey, there was a girl in his apartment, and if he was going to get out of this funk he had to get used to hanging out with people who weren't ten.

Soul stood awkwardly in the doorway of his living room. She was in the couch, arms crossed, staring at her phone. "Uh, your stuff should be out of the dryer in an hour."

Jackie seemed to blush at everything. "Oh, thank you." Her blush deepened. "Hey, you were Maggie's right? Maggie's weapon?"

Soul kept his face blank. "Yea, that's me."

"We stayed in the same dorm in school for a while. I was very sad to hear when she was diagnosed."

The scythe leaned against the door frame, actively working to stay composed and cool. Even the best weapon can't protect his meister from cancer.

"You seem like you're doing well though," Jackie continued. She smiled at him. "It makes me glad. You're a strong person."

Soul decided right then that for someone obsessed with following the proper protocol for everything, Jackie was a pretty cool chick. They sat and talked for an entire hour, reminiscing about the DWMA and swapping stories about their crazy and demanding meisters. Soul hardly ever talked about Maggie, especially in the past tense, but he felt emboldened by this sudden and unexpected friendship. It wasn't as hard as it used to be.

Jackie was in the middle of a long story involving her, Kim, and a giant snake when Kana's parents brought Nate home after his playdate.

"Who is that?" Nate asked Soul, as if Jackie weren't in the same room. The kid eyed the clothes Soul loaned to Jackie while her things were in the dryer.

"Don't be rude," Soul said. "This is Jackie, from the DWMA. She's just waiting for a friend to pick her up." Jackie waved. Nate said nothing and stormed out of the room. Soul could do nothing but look at Jackie and shrug.

* * *

It was 11:13 p.m. eastern when Maka was startled awake by her phone's ringtone chiming on her bedside table. Hiro stirred beside her, but thankfully didn't wake. Groggy and irritable, she rubbed the sand from her eyes and answered the phone.

"Hmmmm?"

"Maka turn on the radio!" Liz shrieked. "That kid is on again! Ugh I can't believe you got me listening to this _garbage_." Phone in hand, Maka leapt to her feet and stumbled out of her bedroom. She had a radio in the house somewhere, didn't she? No, she just had her car. Maka found her purse and fumbled with the keys to unlock her front door. She staggered to her car and shoved her key in the ignition. The moment the engine roared to life, Maka spun the dial on her radio.

"This is a complete disaster!" The boy Nate ranted on the radio. "I wanted him to find a new meister but he's got the wrong one!" Fuck, Maka thought. She instantly felt guilty. How was Maka going to explain this to Hiro in the morning?

"Don't you think maybe your uncle should be the judge of whether she's right or wrong?" Mjolnir asked calmly.

"Please, please, please don't make me sick. He's not sane enough to judge anything. She's a ho!" Maka could hear a muffled cry through the radio's speakers, and she anxiously twisted her hair in her fingers. _"My uncle's been captured by a ho!"_

Maka was (possibly) not going to marry the man she was supposed to because of this scythe and his attractive voice, and now he was (possibly) in the arms of another woman. She reminded herself that she had no right to feel possessive of man who didn't know she existed, but that did nothing to quench her urge to punch out her own radio.

"Oh Death, this is major!" Nate continued. "What if he kisses her on the lips? I have to stop this."

"Come on Nate!" Maka shouted out loud.

"Do something!" Liz urged over the phone.

"Nate, you can't butt in here!" Mjolnir said.

"Yes I can!" A shrill scream sounded through the radio before the line went dead. Maka shakily exhaled and slumped in her seat. Her flight to Seattle was tomorrow. Another woman may be moving in on Soul, but the situation was still salvageable if she met him. Until then, it was all up to Nate.

* * *

"Don't ever do that again," Soul growled.

The scythe stood seething in Nate's bedroom. The door was kicked open, and both of his arms were transformed into red and black blades, itching to slash the first threat he saw. Jackie stood behind him with a flaming lantern at the ready.

Soul's formerly-screaming nephew was bundled in his blankets, phone receiver discarded on the side of the bed. "I thought I saw a black widow spider," Nate explained.

Soul's blades shifted back into his human arms, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was so talking to Wes about this tomorrow.

Later that night, Jackie's meister finally called her back. Kim arrived shortly to stammer her apologies and convince Jackie to come back with her. From what Soul gathered in his conversations with Jackie, the two were constantly breaking up and getting back together. When they left, Soul was in a pretty good mood. He had a successful interaction with a woman, and though it was platonic, he took the win.

The next day was a different story. Soul was uncharacteristically cold when he dragged Nate out of bed to drive to the airport.

Earlier that morning, Black Star called him in a panic because "some bitch in accounting" didn't approve their expense request, so they didn't have the money to buy two first-class plane tickets AND get a cab home. Since a god like Black Star and a shining star like Tsubaki couldn't fly coach with the peasants, Black Star asked Soul to do him a real solid and pick the pair up when their flight landed.

Meanwhile, Soul had bone to pick with the kid.

"Did you call the radio station again?" Soul asked at a red light. He didn't let Nate answer. "According to your dad, the entire orchestra heard you."

In the rear view mirror, Soul saw Nate give him a sheepish look. "I was only on for a second."

"Long enough to call Jackie a ho!"

"It's a short word."

The weapon grunted and ran his hand through his white hair. Jackie definitely didn't deserve to be called a whore on the radio by his brother's ten year-old brat. He imagined that if she ever found out, her hair would burn for weeks. Nate's obsession with finding Soul a new meister was officially getting out of hand.

At the airport, the two Evans' waited beyond the Arrivals gate in the jetway. Black Star and Tsubaki were due any minute, and Soul was far from finished.

"Nate, this isn't fair," Soul finally said. He let a beat of silence pass between them. "This what I'm supposed to do. Meet new people, try them on, see if they fit. But no one fits perfectly. Everyone is an adjustment."

"Was Maggie an adjustment?"

Soul groaned in complete exasperation. "What the hell do you think, that perfect women are just walking around? There is no such thing as a perfect—"

The scythe spotted a young, lithe woman emerging from the jetway and his voice dried up in this throat. All at once he was struck by her looks, her fluidity, her poise. Pigtails would make anyone else look far too girlish and immature, but on her they framed a soft face and elegant neck in a way Soul didn't think was possible. She walked right past him, their shoulders coming within inches of touching, as she searched for the exit. He watched her walk away, staring and wondering what in Death's name just happened.

"Soul, I was talking to Kana about reincarnation, and she thinks you met Maka in another life," Nate started to say. Soul moved forward like a sleepwalker, pushing past other people so he wouldn't lose sight of the girl who just stole his breath.

"Who is Maka?" Soul muttered in a daze.

"The one who wrote us!"

Soul didn't answer because he was preoccupied—this girl liked to weave through crowds, blonde pigtails swaying as she darted from one congested pack of humans to another. It was all he could do to keep track of her, let alone keep up. And he kept having to wait for Nate, who was too deep in his own world to register that Soul was suddenly in the hurry of his life.

"But Kana says you never got together in that life, and your souls are like puzzles with parts out of them, and when you get together, the puzzle is complete."

The pigtailed girl took a turn Soul didn't expect, so he grabbed Nate's hand and tugged the boy forward. When he rounded the corner, she was nowhere in sight. The scythe frantically searched the crowd, unwilling to accept that he actually lost her.

"The reason I know this and you don't is because I'm younger and purer, so I'm more in touch with cosmic forces," Nate said. He looked around, puzzled. "Why did we go all the way over here?"

She was gone, and Soul felt more furious with himself than he had in a long time. "Shit," Soul said. To Nate, he said, "I sincerely hope you never get together with Kana."

Soul continued to scan the airport crowd for the mysterious blonde as they returned to the jetway, but didn't spot her anywhere. Black Star was already waiting for them, declaring his arrival to everyone unfortunate enough to listen. A strange black scarf was wrapped around his neck, and Tsubaki was no where in sight.

"Don't tell me you left Tsubaki behind in Japan so you could afford a first-class plane ticket," Soul said to Black Star.

Black Star grinned, and his eyes darted from Soul, to Nate, to the black scarf around his neck. "She got something way better than first-class."

Understanding dawned on Soul's face. "Hey there Tsubaki," he said.

The scarf shifted slightly around Black Star's neck. "Hi!"

* * *

Was any lie a betrayal? Maka used to think so, but now it seemed like a very harsh way to draw the line. She lied to Hiro so she could make this trip happen, but she felt more nervous than guilty.

Maka's mind was racing when she exited the plane, and after wandering through the crowd she made a beeline for the ladies room. She had an address to go to, but no idea of how to proceed.

Alone in the bathroom, Maka studied herself in the mirror. "Hello Mr. Evans. No, no. Hi Soul." How did she want to sound? Sweet? Dignified? Sultry? "I'm Maka Albarn," she said matter-of-factly to her reflection. That sounded good.

"I heard you on, uh, Dr. Mjolnir's show and I just happened to be out here on, uh…" Business? Vacation? No good reason at all? "..business. I thought I'd just drop in to…" Say hello? Invite you to lunch? _Take a shower with you? _She mussed her hair and struck a sultry pose. Feeling ridiculous, Maka slumped her shoulders. "…shoot myself."

She called Liz to get some perspective. "How did I get here?"

"You told a lie and got on a plane," Liz said.

"Is this crazy?"

Liz was silent for a moment. "No," she finally said. "That's the weirdest part."

The radio in Maka's rental car was tuned to the same channel as "You and Your Emotions." The commercials and feel-good hits did nothing to calm Maka's nerves. What if they weren't as compatible as she believed? What if she actually had to marry Hiro and live out her years following the same life plan she came up with at age 15? The prospect of not finding her soul mate at the end of this wild goose chase was too depressing to express. It would mean that she was right all along, and for once in her life Maka wanted to be proven otherwise.

She drove tediously slow as she searched for the correct address. Finding the building was the easiest step. After that, Maka planned on practicing in the mirror more before making her move. But when she found the right address, a move had already been made for her.

In the light research/stalking she did of Soul, Maka never found a photograph, just a physical description. Soul "Eater" Evans was tall with white hair and red eyes. In front of this apartment building, she saw a tall man with white hair and red eyes. He was lazily slouching next to a young boy, who orbited around him in excitement. It was them—Soul and Nate. They were right there. The two simply stood there as if they were waiting for something. Waiting for her.

Maka sloppily parked her car on the side of the street and whipped some deodorant out of her purse. No pit stains for Maka Albarn, not today. She finally exited her car and stood immobile on the sidewalk. This was it. She'd flown three thousand miles, told lies, the whole thing. It's now or never.

She started to cross, gaining courage and rightness with every step, but stopped dead when she saw Soul's face break into an enormous grin

A woman with a small suitcase was walking towards them, waving and smiling a mile wide, beckoning to Soul and Nate like a military wife welcoming her boys home. Soul and Nate both look overjoyed to see her. Nate broke into a run, nearly leaping into this woman's arms, as Soul brought up the rear. The three of them hugged, Soul kissed the woman's cheek.

A perfect family moment. Maka is at a standstill in the middle of the street, in shock. It was all too horrible to bear.

The apparent warmth and love in this homecoming caused Maka to forget where she was—in the middle of a busy street.

A car horn blared at her, but Maka can do nothing but stare at the nightmare unfolding before her. The sound of a car skidding to a halt gave her a start, and Maka's long-dormant meister instincts finally kicked in. Maka performed a forward roll away from incoming car, landing awkwardly near the sidewalk. A car coming the other direction jerked to a halt, and cabbie leaned out of his window.

"What the hell is your problem, lady?" Maka heard the cabbie, but she didn't respond. She timidly got back onto her feet when things took a turn for the worse.

"Hey, are you ok?" Recognizing that rich voice, Maka spun around.

Red eyes met green.

The commotion must have drawn Soul all the way across the street, and now that he was so close Maka was struck dumb. Oh Death, the scythe was so much handsomer than she imagined in her head. The sharp teeth certainly added roguish something that she didn't know she found attractive. Soul stiffened at the sight of her, and those dark red eyes scanned her face.

"Hello," he said.

In a shaky voice, Maka replied "Hello."

Her mortification was too much—this wasn't how it was supposed to go. She studied for this! Without another word, Maka turned on her heel and bolted for her car. She flew into the driver's seat and started the car, too scared to look back and see Soul's confused, possibly even disgusted, face. The tires on her car squealed sharply as she pulled away.

* * *

He let her get away again. The woman with the green eyes, who already proved how slippery she was earlier that day in the airport, got into her car and sped away before Soul could think of a decent follow up to 'hello.'

Back across the street, Christine tousled her son's hair with affection. Wes was already upstairs in Soul's apartment, gathering Nate's things. When Wes arrived ahead of his wife, Nate became so excited to see his mom that he insisted they wait for her at the door. As Soul stood deflated in the street, he wondered if he should thank him or not. Was glimpsing an angel worth it if you just let her fly away twice in twelve hours?

Soul moved like a zombie when he followed Nate and his mother inside. Before heading in the elevator, Nate slipped an envelope into Soul's mailbox. The scythe was too busy chastising himself to notice that it was addressed to an address in Washington DC.


	4. Chapter 4

The plan was to stay two days in Seattle. Maka lasted six hours.

She was devastated, but apparently not as much as Liz and Patty. When Maka finally returned to work, the elder sister actually throttled her. "You just _stood there _in the middle of the street?" Liz screeched. "And all you said was _hello?" _

Liz released Maka from her grip, who then covered her face with her hands. She had been home a full three days, carefully working from home so she could avoid Liz and Patty's pestering. Staying at home wasn't much better because it meant facing Hiro everyday. Her guilt was mounting. She really was her father's daughter, traveling across the country to chase down a scythe just because his voice was sexy. No, she was worse than her father, because Spirit Albarn at least was capable of carrying out an adulterous affair. Maka Albarn did not even get passed "hello."

"You know that dream where you're naked and everyone is looking at you?" Maka asked.

Liz's eyes lit up. "I love that dream."

"That was nothing compared to this humiliation." She sat slumped in her desk chair, nursing an iced tea because drinking alcohol in the office was frowned upon. Maka never clammed up in front of a guy before. When it came to her career and her personal life, this definitely was her most spectacular failure to date.

Maka tugged out her pigtails, and started combing through her hair with her fingers. She wanted to feel more put together, and it wasn't working.

Liz and Patty made eye contact and nodded. Patty jumped from her seat and rifled through her purse, then pulled out a white envelope. When the weapon handed the envelope to her, Maka was shocked to see it was from Seattle.

"So we mailed your letter," Liz said. "He wrote back. Read it!" When Maka made no move to open the letter, Patty snatched it out of her hands and tore the envelope open herself. There was a single piece of white paper inside with a message scrawled in large, crooked letters.

"Dear Maka," Patty read in a sing-song voice. "Thanks for your letter. It was great. We're very excited about meeting you in Death City on Halloween and seeing if we are made for each other. Scythe in Seattle."

The three sat in silence.

"It's cute," Liz finally said. "It's like a little clue." Maka looked at Liz balefully. "Ok, so he can't write. It's his voice you like, not his verbal skills."

"I'm going to run back into Hiro's arms," Maka resolved.

"What about the letter?" Patty asked.

Maka chuckled ruefully and shook her head. "It doesn't mean anything. It was written before I got there. Before the ho."

She took the letter from Patty, carefully folded it, then walked up to her office shredder. After a moment's hesitation, Maka shoved the letter through. The sound of machinery ripping apart the paper was gratifying. It was time to put this Scythe in Seattle business behind her, to focus on what was true and real. No one could chase after their fantasies forever.

* * *

That girl with the green eyes was haunting him. Whenever he saw a suspiciously graceful blonde in the street, Soul's heart would beat erratically as he fought to get a glimpse of her face. Every time he was disappointed. After spotting her twice in the same day, that green-eyed girl had truly vanished.

Last night, she officially invaded his dreams. Soul was sitting on his bed, alone, when she strode into the room. She was only wearing a white men's button-down, revealing her slender legs and creamy skin. Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders in ashy tendrils.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," he replied. Because this was a dream, Soul could actually keep his cool and say something more than hello. "So. What should we talk about?" he asked. "How insecure we were as teenagers. Our likes and dislikes. Music. Everyone likes music. Did you know Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture includes 16 rounds of cannon fire?"

"Shhhhhh." With every sentence he said, she undid another button on her shirt. By the time she shushed him, their faces were inches apart. Is she going to scratch up your back? Death, I hope so, Soul thought.

When he woke up, Soul experienced a confusing mixture of arousal and guilt. It had been a long time since he dreamed about a woman who wasn't Maggie. Was he really replacing her with someone he glimpsed twice? Soul didn't really believe in the afterlife, but those dreams he kept having of Maggie, that was a kind of afterlife wasn't it? He didn't know if he should feel scared or relieved that she had finally exited his subconscious. This must mean he's moving on, like everyone kept saying he would. Or that he was letting her go. Either way, the realization was bittersweet.

Soul had dinner with Wes and his family that night. Now that Nate wasn't living with him, Soul started seeking him out. Who knew he would miss the kid so much? After Nate was asleep, he had a beer with his brother and sister-in-law.

"You saw her in the airport and then by your apartment?" Wes asked.

"I tried to talk to her…" Soul trailed off. "It was like I knew her. Weird." He took another swig of his beer, but it was almost empty already.

"Well, at least you're out there seeing people again," Wes said. "You know, if you're looking for her you should call that radio show."

"NO." Wes burst out laughing, and his wife smacked him on the arm. "You don't understand," Soul said. "I got hundreds of letters after that happened. And Nate is obsessed with this one woman who wrote me—"

"You're kidding!" Christine said.

"She wants to meet me in Death City on Halloween," Soul said. "At the top of the DWMA steps, like it's some blind date."

"So what are you going to do?" Christine asked. "Look for Miss Green Eyes? Meet this woman on Halloween?"

Soul stared down at the table. He might be ready to move forward, to let go of Maggie, but he couldn't trade an old ghost for a new one. "I'm not going to do either of those," he said. "I have to focus on what's real. No one can chase after their fantasies forever."

* * *

Death City was as dry and scorching as ever, which Maka actually thought felt quite refreshing. Hiro was at her side, carrying her bag and describing the extravagant plans they had planned for their romantic evening in their old hometown. As they got into a cab outside the airport, Maka thought, This is right. This is real. Everything else is what happens when you lose sight of what counts.

Maka was in Death City on Halloween, but she had made her choice. Scythe in Seattle was history.

In the cab, the couple didn't speak—they were both in their own worlds. Suddenly they both tried to speak at once, and Maka gave Hiro a nod so he could speak first.

"For the past several weeks, you've been different," Hiro said. He looked more thoughtful than worried. "Distant. Kind of distracted. But I feel like you're coming back from wherever you were."

"I am," Maka said with a smile. "I was just—I think I got nervous. Don't you ever feel nervous about, you know."

"About what?"

"About forever." Maka looked out the window. "I think I was afraid that it was almost too perfect. Like we were the human equivalent of two rights making a wrong." Hiro nodded, though he clearly had no idea what she meant.

The city was bustling with tourists and locals alike as the Battle Festival moved into full swing. Maka and Hiro stood with the other spectators, watching as the DWMA's strongest duked it out in the arena. While Hiro cheered and booed with the rest of the crowd, Maka silently wished she could leap out of the stands and jump into the fray herself. The meisters clashing swords before her were doing it so wrong. Did the quality of meisters in the past few years slip or something? Maka pictured herself standing there, sweeping away the competition with her scythe and claiming the championship title.

Maka glanced at her fiance, who was transfixed by the battle. She had to stop having these adolescent dreams about how exciting meisterhood was. Her life was safe, scheduled, in place, and that should be enough.

Suddenly, it hit her all at once. The reality of being married to Hiro, sweet and considerate Hiro, wasn't the end of her dreams. It was the end of her ambitions. This distinction was vital, because dreams were the fantasies you made up because you were unhappy and ambitions were the goals you strove towards to give yourself purpose. A life with Hiro would be pleasant, comfortable, and safe, but it would be stagnant. She was going to spend the rest of her life sitting still, always stuck in bleachers while someone else was fighting in the arena.

"Hiro, can we sit down somewhere?" Maka said in a hollow tone. She looked away from him, staring at the action in the arena. "I have something to tell you."

* * *

On Halloween, Soul was rudely awakened from another dream starring Miss Green Eyes by a frenzied knocking at his front door. It was noon. Now that Nate was gone, Soul slept in far too late to be healthy. He sauntered out of his bedroom, the blood in his head pounding to the rhythm of the ceaseless knocking.

It was Wes.

"Nate!" Wes pushed past Soul and rushed into the apartment. He frantically looked inside Nate's old room. "Come on out buddy, this isn't funny."

"Uh, Nate isn't here." Soul said. The look on his brother's face told him that wasn't the answer Wes was hoping for.

Nate was at his parents' house during breakfast, perfectly chipper and excited to celebrate Halloween in the evening. He went upstairs to his room, and when Wes went to check on him he discovered that Nate climbed out the window. They searched the house, their property, the neighborhood. The kid's bike was still in the garage, but his backpack was gone. Wes was at his wit's end, and Christine called the police. If Nate didn't go to his uncle's, where else would he go?

To motherfucking Kana Altair's place. Nate had already left hours ago by the time Soul and Wes got there, but the little creep knew where Nate went and wasn't talking. She absentmindedly shuffled her tarot cards as her mother, Wes, and Soul attempted to interrogate her.

"Kana, this isn't acceptable," Kana's mother said. Soul transformed his arm into a scythe and shook it threateningly. The girl remained stoic and distant, but then she glanced at the clock and smiled. She pulled out a tarot card that depicted a picture of a castle.

"He's going to Death City," she said. Soul swore. He thought Nate had given up on this Maka character, but the little shitstain was just biding his time.

"How?" Wes exclaimed.

Another card, this time showing the Six of Swords. "United 537."

Wes and Soul looked at each other, then back at Kana. "When does it take off?"

The girl smiled malevolently. She placed one last card on the table—The Fool. "Twenty minutes ago."

Wes and Soul broke all kinds of traffic laws speeding to the airport. While fatherhood mellowed his brother out, Soul got a rare glimpse of the foul-mouthed, caustic Wes he grew up with. When they got Nate back, the kid was in for it. Once at the airport, the brothers unapologetically cut the line and went straight to the kiosk.

"I need a ticket on the next plane to Death City!"

The kiosk punched some numbers into her computer. "How are you paying?"

Wes whipped out his wallet. "American Express!" He thumbed through his wallet, and looked stricken. "Visa!" Wes started pulling out various cards and papers, allowing his driver's license and family photos to fall to the ground. All of his credit cards were gone, and they both knew why.

Soul slid a card out of his own wallet.

"I'm an active weapon with the DWMA," Soul said. He handed her his worn, but very legitimate DWMA ID. "Please, this really is an emergency. You have to at least let me through." The scythe's pulse was pounding in his head. Active weapon his ass. Free flights weren't an actual privilege any DWMA weapons had, let alone weapons who had been out of the field for as long as him. It was a long shot, a last-ditch effort that in most circumstances would never work—

"We have an open seat on the next flight," the kiosk said. She handed him a fresh boarding pass. Soul stared at it in awe, as if a goose just laid a solid gold egg straight into his hands. "Takes off in twenty. Make sure you remove your shoes at security."

Not wanting to waste precious what minutes were left, Soul removed his shoes immediately and sprinted towards security. As he ran, he could hear Wes yelling at him to bring Nate home safe so they could both murder him later.

* * *

A young blond boy wearing a Seattle Mariner's cap and a red backpack heaved himself over the last step of the highest staircase in existence. No one ever told Nate that the DWMA was built on an enormous hill, or that the school steps numbered in the thousands. But this Maka lady was worth it, he could tell.

After catching his breath, Nate fanned himself with his hat. Though the sun was sinking in the sky, the DWMA was still teeming with people. He couldn't hear anything over the dull drone of cheering and the clash of metal in the battle arenas. Nate spotted a woman standing alone near the steps. It was time to take the bull by the horns. Nate put his hat back on his head, and walked up to the woman. She had purple hair and an enormous hat, and her dress was way tighter than the ones his mom wore. Was this who he was looking for?

He tugged on the woman's skirt. "Are you Maka?"

She turned to the boy and cocked her head to the side. "Why aren't you a little cutie. I'm Blair."

"Ugh." Nate stormed away and sought out another unattached woman.

When the sun set, most of the Battle Festival events were winding down. People migrated down the DWMA's endless staircase or milled around the campus in small groups. Nate was sitting alone at the top, deflated after an entire evening of waiting for someone who never came. He was turning his hat in his hands when he heard a familiar voice.

"NATE!" Soul bounded up the steps with ease, and wasn't even panting when he reached the top. Nate jumped to his feet, only to have Soul pick him up by the shoulders.

"What the fuck were you thinking, coming all the way out here by yourself?" Soul shook his nephew, dangling his spindly legs two feet off the ground.

"I was afraid of what you were going to do," Nate said. Soul jerked his head backward

"When I found you?"

"If I didn't go." It finally dawned on Soul exactly how absolutely worried Nate was about him. Soul put his nephew down, and the two sat at the top of the steps. The DWMA's famous Halloween fireworks started shooting off into the sky, leaving patterns of orange and gold in the darkening sky. Though they had the best view in the entire city, Nate looked crushed.

"This was pretty dumb, wasn't it?" Nate asked.

Soul shrugged. "Big deal." When he saw that Nate's gloom still hadn't lifted, Soul got to his feet and heaved Nate up onto his. "Come on, I'm going to show you something."

* * *

A lingering silence fell between Maka and Hiro. They were sitting on a secluded, shaded bench, far away from the crowds of the Battle Festival. The sun was struggling to stay awake, sinking lower below the treeline with every passing moment.

"Look," Hiro said. He maintained eye contact with her. "Maka, I love you. Let's leave that out of this. I don't want to be someone you're settling for. I don't want to be someone anyone settles for." He scratched his head before continuing. "I have a life insurance policy, I come from a wealthy and privileged family, I don't have sexual diseases, I work in IT, and I have 12 piercings. The only things wrong with me are that I don't eat meat and I like to wear plaid. There are plenty of women who would see me as a great catch. Marriage is hard enough without going in with such low expectations, isn't it?"

Maka nodded along and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Hiro, I don't deserve you."

"I—I think that's what I'm saying?" Maka gingerly slipped her engagement ring off her finger and placed it in the palm of his hand.

There was no bitterness. Maka was surprised by how gentle they were being with each other. The longest relationship she had ever been in, dissolved just like that. It occurred to her that maybe she wasn't just settling for him. Maybe he was settling for her too. Two rights making a wrong, indeed.

The loud crash of fireworks snapped Maka out of her reverie, and she looked over her shoulder. The DWMA's Halloween fireworks usually signaled the end of the festival. To Maka, this signaled the end of sunset. Sunset. When she was supposed to meet Soul on top of the DWMA steps.

"Maka!" Hiro said. "Go for it!" Her heart leapt into her throat, and Maka bolted off the bench and across the street.

It pleased her that the DWMA steps were no trouble to scale. She sped to the top, leaping over the last step and skidding to a halt. The meister (no more budget requests and expense reports for her!) spun around, searching for that familiar mop of white hair.

The square was mostly deserted. The scythe wasn't there, even though he said he would be. Soul wrote that he was excited to see if they were made for each other—his actual words! Her chest constricted painfully as she searched the grey platform and the mouth of the academy's entrance. Maybe, she thought, he went to the bathroom because he was waiting so long for her. Maka sprinted into the DWMA and kicked open the doors.

The halls looked the same as they did when Maka was a student, but something foreign was reverberating through the shadows. She recognized the faint notes of a piano, a song that sharply fluctuated between moods. One moment, they were the sound of icicles shattering on pavement, and the next, the low rumble of a tiger's throat. Maka was compelled forward as if lulled into a trance, until she saw a door cracked ajar at the end of the hallway. Could it be—she pushed the door open, and spotted a white mop of hair leaning over a dusty piano forte. A blonde boy—Nate—was standing next to him, watching at Soul's fingers danced over the dull yellow keys.

Maka closed her eyes and stood there for a while, letting Soul's music wash over her in soft waves. She didn't know much about music, but this erratic song of sorrow and joy, encapsulated everything she had gone through in the past month. When she opened her eyes, Maka saw that Nate was staring at her.

The boy started tugging urgently on his uncle's sleeve. Soul grunted and gave a perfunctory glance over his shoulder, and then his fingers abruptly stopped moving over the piano keys. He swiveled himself around the piano bench, awkwardly bumping his knees against the piano's body, to get a good look at her. Maka swallowed.

"It's you," Soul said. He spoke as if he was slowly waking up from an unbelieveable dream. "I saw you, in the street. And the airport—I chased after you." A light blush spread over Maka's cheeks.

"Are you Maka?" Nate asked. He excitedly pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. It was worn, as if someone had folded and unfolded it a dozen times. "I got your letter!" Nate said, waving it in the air.

Maka nodded and smiled understandingly. "And I think I got yours."

"You're Maka too?" Soul asked. His expression shifted from surprise to elation, elation to suspicion, and suspicion to utter horror. The scythe dragged his eyes away from Maka to look incredulously at his nephew._ "And you wrote back to her?_ She could have been anyone! She could have been crazy, or a kidnapper, or a crack—SHIT!"

Maka really wanted to make a good second impression, she really did, but she refused to allow Soul to get away with tasteless slander. She whipped a hardcover book from her jacket and threw it at the scythe. As usual, her aim was dead on. It hit him square in the forehead, cutting off him off. Soul barred his sharp teeth at her as he rubbed his aching skull.

"I am not crazy!" Maka said. She stuck her hands on her hips and leaned forward. "Why on earth would you assume that I was crazy?"

"Because you tracked down my address and wrote me after hearing me talk on the radio," Soul responded dryly. His brow furrowed as if he realized something. "And you _stalked_ me to my apartment!"

Maka's entire face flushed a deep red. "I was there on business!" she sputtered. Her lie was embarrassingly obvious, so she pointed an accusatory finger at the scythe. "You apparently chased me around the airport. I didn't even see you, so who's the stalker now?"

Soul didn't budge from the piano bench, and Maka didn't either. They stared each other down, a silent battle of wills between fierce green and irreverent red. Oddly enough, this combative side to Soul only served to make him even more irresistible. He snickered and laughed out loud—the first time Maka had actually heard him laugh.

"You know what? Let's start this over." Soul got to his feet and ambled over to Maka. He raked his sanguine eyes over her and gave Maka a crooked grin. "Soul Eater Evans. Demon scythe."

Maka smirked right back at him. "Maka Albarn." She stuck out her hand. Her palms were sweaty, but she wouldn't give in to her nerves any longer. "Scythe Meister." It felt good to say it out loud.

Soul's eyebrows shot up, and he lazily clasped her hand with his. It was warm and a little moist—she wasn't the only one with sweaty hands. Underneath that arrogant exterior was the same undercurrent of doubt and anxiety she was feeling. As they slowly shook hands, Maka wondered if Soul also felt how comfortable, natural, and right this was.

Nate, grinning like Cupid's bastard child, pumped both of his fists into the air.

"We better go," Soul finally said. "Shall we?" His voice was thick and uncertain, but he looked more confident after Maka nodded. For the first time since she could remember, Maka didn't know what she was going to do, or even where she was supposed to sleep. The only thing she did know for certain was that home wasn't that far away, not anymore.

They left the building together, hands lightly brushing as they walked down the DWMA steps. The moon grinned at them in the dark sky, and the two held hands.

"Soul?" Maka asked. The scythe tilted his head towards her and gave her a smile that made her soul sing. "It's nice to meet you."

FIN.


	5. Epilogue

The streets in downtown Seattle were deserted and silent. The moon was obscured by a dense fog, leaving only faint, flickering streetlamps to light up the dark. It was nights like these that made Soul itch for something to hunt.

Maka Albarn-Soul's partner and second shot at the good life-carried him in scythe form slung over her narrow shoulders. Nine months into their partnership, Soul was still surprised at how easily she carted him around, how adeptly her wrists twirled him as if he were a baton and not a heavy weapon with a long, lethal blade.

When they met in front of that dusty piano, Soul didn't really believe Maka when she said she was a scythe meister. He wanted to know the girl who had conspicuously taken residence in his dreams, but he still wasn't sold on taking her on as a partner. All of his doubts evaporated the moment they clasped hands. Her touch was symphonic. In that moment, the discordant humming that constantly buzzed at the back of Soul's brain twisted and stretched until it became a different sound entirely. A crescendo of tenderness and passion, acceptance and homecoming. A new resonance in G.

The experience was familiar, even if the melody was in a different key. He thought it was impossible to hear this song again. What were the chances that a guy like him could find a connection like this twice? Too small to be dumb luck or coincidence, that was for sure.

"I see it," Maka said, bringing Soul out of his thoughts and back to the moment at hand. Her eyes were glassy and focused. Somewhere out in the darkness was a pre-kishin on the prowl. "Let's get this over with. We were supposed to be there by now."

"Being late to something really isn't going to kill you." Though he was still in Maka's hands, Soul twisted his scythe blade so his eye could get a better look at her face. "That kid has concerts all the time. No one would care if we skipped out." There were a thousand other things Soul would rather do after dispatching this kishin, and Desirable Number One on that list was currently gripping his scythe handle.

Maka rolled her eyes. "I was never late to anything, ever, before meeting you, Soul Eater."

"Don't pretend you don't like it."

"Besides, I've never been to one of Nate's concert things. Your brother made it sound like a huge deal." The scythe was prepared to argue that Wes, in fact, made everything remotely related to his son sound like a huge deal, but the sound of knives grating against asphalt caused them both to tense.

Without speaking, Maka lifted Soul of her shoulders and adopted a fighting stance.

The monster was large and meaty, wearing only some skimpy loin cloth, a harness, and a mask capped over its demonic face and scraggly hair. If its jagged teeth and prehensile tongue weren't a big enough indicator, its long, blade-like fingers dragging on the ground confirmed their suspicions. This creature wasn't human, not anymore. It looked at Maka like a hunter scoping out its prey, but it was too stupid to realize that their roles were actually reversed.

"Serial killer Jack the Ripper," Maka said. "Your soul is mine!"

The pre-kishin lunged forward, and Maka deflected its claws with Soul's scythe handle. The ensuing battle was nothing less than a dance of souls, two fighting as one. Soul twirled around Maka's wrist, butting the monster in the face with the blunt end of his blade. It was still reeling when Maka swung her weapon in a long arc, slicing through the monster's belly. Cut completely in two, the monster's body warped inward until there was nothing left but a glowing, dark red soul.

After transforming back into a human, Soul savored the slimey, chilled texture of the kishin-soul. Another night, another name crossed off Lord Death's list, another soul added towards Maka's long-neglected childhood dream to create a deathscythe more powerful than her father.

It was Soul's own fault that he didn't make the connection between his newfound love and the personal weapon of Lord Death. He never bothered to remember that Deathscythe's real name was Spirit Albarn, and he also never cared to make the man like him when Soul was still a student at the DWMA. Now Soul was both dating the elder scythe;s daughter and gunning his position as Deathscythe. What a small world.

Maka yanked his elbow, causing the scythe to slightly choke on the soul sliding down his throat. "_Let's go!_"

She dragged him back to his bike, parked a couple blocks away. Soul took his time to mount the bike and put the key in the ignition, partly to annoy Maka but also to prolong the sensation of his meister flush against his back, arms wrapped tightly around him as he revved the engine. There was no rush, not for him.

Soul like to call their romance a coup de foudre, a bolt of lightning. One day they were strangers, and the next, two halves of a whole. The change was so sudden and complete, neither of them could fully remember what 'before' even felt like. Despite the instantaneous connection, they explored each other with baby steps. Certains things simply took time to discover, like the happy revelation that Maka was ticklish behind the knees, and the less happy revelation that she didn't enjoy orchestra concerts because they didn't have storylines like her books did. "Dammit woman, the music _is _the story," he had said to her. Of course, the scythe's inability to come up with five favorite books (that weren't also movies) got on Maka's nerves just as much as her lack of musicality annoyed him.

When they finally arrived there was no line at the auditorium's ticket booth, indicating that most of the audience was probably already inside and filing into their seats. Before entering the building, Maka uncertainly smoothed her pleated skirt.

"I don't have any blood on me do I?" She eyed a couple of older women walking past them, both of whom had opera pearls swinging from their necks. "It's bad enough that I'm under-dressed."

Soul's red eyes gave her the once-over. Admittedly, she was a little out of place for a choir concert. She was wearing her usual fighting uniform-a leather jacket zipped up over a skirt, with steel-toed combat boots protecting her feet.

"Nope, beautiful as usual," Soul said. "But I'm biased."

They got inside just in time for the lights to dim. Holding hands, the partners dashed through the aisles until they spotted a blond, shaggy head towards the front. Maka and Soul had to awkwardly scoot in front of at least a dozen other audience members before reaching two empty seats besides Wes and his wife.

Okay, so maybe Wes was right when he said this concert was a huge deal. Not very eleven-year old boy could sing treble-soprano, and even fewer were good enough to perform alongside the nation's best vocalists. Nate's voice blended with the choir for most of the concert, and they didn't get a chance to hear him sing alone until towards the end. He had a brief solo, singing the first verse of an Italian hymn with the lilt and clarity of a cherub. The dissonance between the angelic Nate onstage and the hellish one he spent nearly a year babysitting was baffling.

"I give him a year before he's bumped up to tenor, eighteen months 'til baritone." Soul whispered to Maka. "That kid's voice is going to drop like a bowling ball."

"Like yours?" Considering how they met, Maka made no secret of her attraction to Soul's voice.

Soul gave her a smug grin. "Oh yeah."

For a chronic sufferer of Little Shit Syndrome, Nate's infuriating shenanigans worked out. Soul's nights were sometimes still sleepless, but it wasn't the shadows of past love or regret that stirred him. It was the steady breathing of the girl beside him, the excitement of a goal within arm's reach, The sight of a new path to travel alongside a new love.

Many times before drifting off to sleep, Soul and Maka attempted to discuss the causality of it all. If Maka wasn't driving home in her car alone, she wouldn't have heard Soul on the radio. If Soul didn't have to make a last minute run to the airport, he wouldn't have seen Maka. And if Nate didn't insist upon catching his mother outside, the lovers wouldn't have met eyes in the street. A thousand tiny acts, accumulating like grains of sand, until lightning struck and transformed those particles into a sculpture of glass. He called it a coup de foudre. She said it was destiny.


End file.
